


Still Stirring

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, Late Night Writing, M/M, Nursey Week, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Chowder shrugs like he honestly couldn’t give a fuck. Derek chuckles, tired Chris is his favorite. He’s still this light that penetrated any storm cloud, but less willing to put up with pleasantries.orThe one where Chowder would love nothing more than to keep Nursey company.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Nursey Week  
> Prompt: Silence

It’s another one of those nights. Nursey can tell around three am when he’s nothing but restless. When he’s lucky, they come once in a blue moon. During the season, however, Derek’s more likely than not to be up once a week. But he deals. He pads quietly down to the kitchen with a pen and journal in hand. He contemplated bringing his music down, but that would only serve as a distraction.

He grabs some water, pulling up a chair. Derek runs a hand through his curly hair. He debates whether to work on a new piece for next week’s poetry slam or to toy with an assignment from three weeks from now. The one upside to his anxiety-induced Insomnia is that he can keep up with his homework. It also means sometimes he runs out of things to do. He’s a fast reader and there’s only so much analysis he can do on _Leaves of Grass_ before he starts speaking in metaphors.

Derek sighs, “it’s the middle of the night and I’m still stirring.” He likes how the line sounds. So he starts typing.

_It’s past midnight and I’m still stirring_

_The cogs inside won’t halt_

_The acid in my stomach is climbing higher_

_Why do you choke me? I ask my lungs_

_To make you sing, they reply_

_Why do you torture me? I ask my mind_

_To see you succeed, they lie_

“No, too melodramatic, not visceral enough,” Nursey hits the backspace with forcefully.

_It’s the middle of the night_

_I’m still stirring_

_I asked once if it was normal to feel pain like I do_

_My teachers said yes_

_I asked if it was normal to not feel anything at all_

_My peers said yes_

_I asked if it was normal to feel so wound tight_

_That you couldn’t differentiate left from right_

_Yes for No_

_Right from Wrong_

_My therapist said no_

Derek groans, “just stop. Don’t be such a whinny asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re whinny,” a voice snaps Nursey out of his musing. Chris is standing in doorway, leaning heavily against the frame.

“C, you should be in bed,” Derek chastises.

“So should yo—” Chowder yawns.

“Can’t,” Derek admits. “Tried, but I can’t.”

“Well don’t force yourself to write because you’re up,” Chris’ eyebrows knit together in concern.

“That’s not—oh,” Nursey sighs. “You’re right, I’m not even inspired right now.”

“Want company?”

“C, you don’t have to,” he assures.

“I want to,” Chowder insists softly. “C’mon, I love spending time with you.”

Nursey snorts incredulously, “at least let’s go to bed.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Yours,” Nursey deliberates. “I can only imagine the Dex sized fury we’ll get for waking him up.”

Chowder shrugs like he honestly couldn’t give a fuck. Derek chuckles, tired Chris is his favorite. He’s still this light that penetrated any storm cloud, but less willing to put up with pleasantries. They climb the stairs softly, Chowder pulling him along by the hand. There’s enough room for them to squeeze into bed together. Chris arranges them so they’re facing each other, one leg on top of the other and Derek’s head sheltered in the crook of his neck. Nursey inhales the scent of coconut body wash and that yakisoba sauce recipe they were testing out earlier in the day. It’s a balmy October, so the thrum of air conditioner obstructs the otherwise perfect silence.  

“You’re thinking too loud,” Chowder teases languidly.

“It’s too quiet in here,” Nursey complains half-heartedly.

“Then fix it,” he offers with another yawn.

“What can I tell you?”

“Tell me about…school,” Chris proposes.

“You’re in two of my classes,” Derek counters dryly.

“Ok,” Chris isn’t bothered much by the bite in Nursey’s tone, “what were you working on just now.”

“Poem,” Derek grumbles into his neck.

“About?”

“Idk,” he sighs. He’s working on actually communicating instead of deflecting, “a line popped into my head and I tried to make it stick.”

“What was it?” he encourages.

“It’s past midnight and I’m still stirring,” Nursey recites, “but I think what struck me was the alliteration of still stirring.”

“Tell me about it,” Chowder mumbles. Then he quickly revises, “no seriously, tell me about it.”

“My brain is a hamster with unlimited food called chaos and panic,” Derek rattles off. “My anxiety is a jump on a scratched record called some fucked up kid.”

“You’re not fucked up,” Chris squeezes him tightly.

“Tell that to the five therapists, eight nannies, and my birth mother,” Nursey quips more like a line than a serious retort.

“Der,” Chowder protests.

“It’s just hard sometimes,” he admits.

“I know,” he kisses Derek’s temple.

“I wish I hadn’t gone to private school,” Nursey admits. “I thought their rules taught me how to defy the odds. Nowadays it just feels like they pinned me into a life of emotional dearth. Like we were all their puppets. Some of us rose while I fell hard.”

“You’re at Samwell,” Chris bristles. 

“It’s doesn’t feel like I’ve earned being here. It feels like some freak accident that happened because I’m black or a technically a legacy or something.”

“You been feeling like this all day?”

“When do I not feel like my life’s a joke?” Nursey laughs mirthlessly. “Sorry, I know I’m being a buzz kill. It’s been a long day.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me for feeling bad about yourself,” Chowder nuzzles the top of his head. “You should probably say sorry to yourself for calling you a joke.”

“I’m sorry Derek,” Nursey says indulgently.

“That’s more like it,” he can hear the grin in Chowder’s voice.

They lapse into silence. Nursey thinks Chowder’s fallen asleep until he says suggestively, “is your mind the only thing that’s stirring?”

Derek shoves him lightly, “get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Can’t stop, won’t stop,” Chris jokes lamely. Most people didn’t realize how wickedly (and often ridiculously) funny Chowder could be.

Nursey laughs hard, “you know what makes my heart stir?”

“What?”

“You,” Derek kisses his shoulder reverently. “The way your eyes tell ten different stories in seconds. The way you flash those braces with pride because you know that we’re all works in progress, you’re just more honest about it. The way your smile settles onto me like a fog that shields me from the ultra-violent thoughts my mind produces.”

“What else?” Chris nudges him encouragingly.

“My heart stirs by the way our fingers interlace. The way mine are firm and straight, but yours are lithe and curve at each joint; they work like we were made to fit together. My heart stutters because when you laugh, it recognizes that no material possession could ever amount to how rich your happiness sounds.

“I love the way we take care of each other. How you listen before you act. How you’re physically smaller than me but your personality fills the whole damn Haus with love. You guard my heart better than the goal line. My heart stirs because yours is always calling out to it.”

“You wanna know what I love about you?”

“Sure, C,” Nursey looks up for the first time, not at all disappointed by the look of sheer adoration in Chris’ eyes.

“The way your mouth twitches before you make a face. How you never seem to notice how gorgeous you are until you catch yourself in a mirror. It kinda looks like you’re remembering who you are, but it’s amazing. How swawesome you are when you set your mind to something. How soft your hands are on and off the ice. How your eyes light up when something interests you. How empathetic and patient you are. How you verbally destroy the Lax team every week.  And,” Chowder pauses to catch his breath, “you’re honestly the smartest person I know. You blow me away just by being you.”

“What time is it?”

Chris twists himself to get a better view of the alarm on his desk, “four.”

He grins, stretching up to make their foreheads touch. Derek’s lips are centimeters away from Chris’, he whispers affectionately. “It’s four am, my heart’s still stirring and we’re in love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a semi-true story of sharing a frat house with someone I love who has Insomnia.
> 
> I'm rarepair, poly trash and accept prompts. [Come say hi on Tumblr.](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com)


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